The Golden Perch Inn

[Celuien]

Primrose sighed. Elven folk had so many mysteries. She didn't think she believed that Elves would disguise themselves as Hobbits. But if Gable said so, she wouldn't press the matter. The Elf had a right to keep her secrets. She was terribly curious, but could accept not knowing more. Other than where Will was concerned, Primrose had good, plain Hobbit sense, and she thought that the affairs of the Elves as they passed to the Sea (or so it was said) could have little impact on life in the Shire. She was content, she supposed, not to know. At least for now.

"Has anyone come in here, looking for their pony? Or have you heard of anyone looking for their pony, or of anyone who has had some. . .troubles with wolves?"

The tea kettle whistled. Primrose hurried to take it off the fire. As she poured the hot water into a teapot, she said, "Wolves? Can't say as I have. I've not heard of any lost ponies either. Why do you ask?"

[Firefoot]

“Wolves? In the Shire?” interjected Cela, who had thus far gone about her business in indignant silence, having been rather annoyed when Gable waltzed into the kitchen asking for breakfast without a word to her. Hmph. “Poppycock. There haven’t been any wolves in the Shire since the Fell Winter, and that was long before any of you were born, and almost before I was. Now, a mad dog I might believe.” For all her sometimes absent-mindedness and mischievous ways, the stolidness of her kind had not wholly escaped Cela, and while some might call Gable adventurous, Cela said fanciful – a little too fanciful. She might do well with a bit of hobbit sense, something several years living in the Shire had not yet managed to instill in her.

“As for missing ponies, I’ve heard naught.” She turned to Primrose with a slight smile. “Now, Primrose, of course I can spare you for a bit this afternoon – I’m not sure what you two lasses take me for, not being able to manage my own kitchen for a short bit on my own. Not that your help isn’t unappreciated, Primrose dear, but I’m not so old as that.”

[Undómë]

Rowan grinned impishly at Cook, biting back a small comment on Cela’s age. She ducked out the door of the kitchen with her refilled tray of breakfast platters and made her round of the customers. Her last basket of hot biscuits was set down for the new family who’d recently come in 'with honey and jam both, if you please, Miss’ from the little girl. Rowan had dipped a little curtsy to the girl, saying she would bring her an extra pot of jam – blackberry, very tasty . . . and Rowan’s favorite one.

She was just on her way back to the kitchen, her empty tray banging along lightly against her ankle when she spied a familiar face. Rowan changed course and headed to Meliot Tussle’s table.

‘I thought you weren’t coming today! Didn’t see you at your usual time.’ Rowan sat her big tray’s edge on the floor in front of her and leaned on it a bit. ‘So what can I get for you, Meliot?’ She leaned in a little closer, pitching her voice a little lower. ‘Did you hear about the Bolger boys? The two younger ones? I heard something about them getting caught by old Noakes. They were getting up before the sun was up and stealing fish out of his traps. What’d you hear?’ Rowan loved gossip, and Meliot always seemed to know things . . .

[Forest Elf]

"Yes, wolves," Gable said. Then grabbied her plate and sat down at the table; facing Primrose and Cela.

"I was up early, just before sunup and I was making my way back to the inn from the road, and there was a pony, being attacked by a wolf. I killed the wolf and brought the pony here. . .but I couldn't find the pony's owner, she still had her saddle on when I saved her, but I couldn't find the owner." Gable said, looking down at her bacon, shame showed on her face for a second before she took a bite of eggs.

"Who ever the pony's owner is, I hope that he or she is ok. . ." Gable said, before taking another bite of bacon.

[Arry]

Will fetched his bucket of tools from the work table at the front of the stable and walked round to the north side of the building. The horses and ponies were all taken care of for now. He’d left the long ladder stored against the wall yesterday after his inspection of the roof. Now he leaned it securely against the edge of the eaves.

A section of shingling had suffered from last winter’s snows, and now in the more constant sun he noted they were beginning to crack. None looked to be cloven clean through, but given time they would be. And that would be bad for the hay stored on the wide platforms beneath the rafters. ‘Can’t have my charges eating moldy hay,’ he’d said as he’d walked carefully along the slanting roof, kicking at suspect shingles with his toes.

In the storage shed near the stable, Will brought out a couple of stacks of wooden shingles tied in manageable bundles with thick twine. He’d made a number of these bundles last autumn with Gable’s assistance from one of the big cedar trees downed by the Longburrow family at the edge of the Green Hills. They’d brought the large log in, in trade for a small barrel of Will’s raspberry ale.

Earlier that morning, Will had heated up a fair sized kettle of tar, and now he dipped out a bucket of it to take up to the roof along with a thick-bristled broom. He balanced the buckets of tools and tar on the two little platforms he’d made yesterday. Just temporary shelves for the job, and one larger one on which to put the stacks of shingles.

Tying a rolled handkerchief about his brow, he began clearing off the broken shingles and a small perimeter about them. Once done he would begin spreading tar on the roof platform below.

But for now, he crawled about on the roof, ripping off shingles and sending them sliding over the edge of the eaves behind him . . .

[Celuien]

Cela was right, of course. There had been no wolves in the Shire since the Fell Winter, when the Brandywine was frozen, and there had been a path into the Shire from the lands outside the Hobbits' comfortable domain. And that was nigh upon 50 years ago. She supposed it was possible that a stray wolf had wandered over the borders. But not likely. Still, Gable had seen - and killed - something. Primrose wished she knew what it was. She hoped Cela was right about its not really being a wolf. Wolves would be an ominous sign indeed.

In any case, Primrose shared Gable's concern for the pony's keeper. "Yes. I hope that no harm has come to anyone. Whatever the source. Wolves or no."

With that, she turned back to Cela.

"You, old?" Primrose laughed. "Never. And I've no doubt you can run things perfectly well. Why, there's no better cook anywhere! Not if you went all the way to Hobbiton. Or Bree!"

Which was Primrose's way of saying that Cela had no equal in all Middle-earth.

"But you know if you needed my help, should things turn busy with the midday travelers, I'd not want to leave you with all the work. Wouldn't be doing my job if I did." She smiled.

Then she added, "Thank you for sparing me today. In more ways than one."

[Dimturiel]

"Why, it's good to see you, Rowan!" Meloit exclaimed. "I meant to come even earlier today, but our Tom's trousers were in such a state! I think some cheese cake and some eggs would do for me, at least for now. And some ale also, if you don't mind. But first stay and chat for a bit."

Meliot always liked a good talk, with anyone that she could have, and on any topic. Trifles, such as the fact that the young Bolgers were stealing fish from Noakes, were to her as fascinating-if not even more- as the news that folk used to bring from the Outside World.

"Why, my goodness!" she cried. "Will those two devils ever learn! Why, last week they were stealing carrots from Mister Boffin's garden, and now they take fish from poor old Noakes. What next, I wonder? And I very much hope that my two brothers are not in league with them. Goodness knows where they are going and what mischief they are doing. "

She spoke as if to show that she was cross, but actually she was mostly amused. And she was still young enough to remember her own expeditions from when she was small. She spent all days with the Hornblower lads and with many others, and they were the terror of all farmers. Why, there was no garden left untouched by their greedy hands.

"Well, they are young," she continued airily, "They'll soon come to their senses. But tell me, what did old Noakes say to those two rascals? I have heard he has a frightful temper. Don't you know, he got into a row right at this inn, a few months ago, with a hobbit from Bree. They had some disagreement over pipeweed."